_Euthanasia at Lucca._
The castle bell tolled the _Ave Maria_ for the last time, answering the
belfries of the various convents in the vale below. "There is my knell!"
cried Euthanasia. At first she thought that it would please her, in
quitting for ever the abode of her ancestors, to array herself in
mourning garments; but then the simplicity of her mind made her
instinctively shun any thing that had the appearance of affectation; so
she covered her head with a white veil, folded her capuchin about her,
and returned to the chamber of Lauretta to prepare for her removal.
Castiglione sent thither to desire admittance; when he came, he felt
awed by the deportment of Euthanasia, who received him with that slight
tinge of pride mingled with her accustomed dignity, which adversity
naturally bestows on the good. He announced that the escort had arrived
to convey them to Lucca; Euthanasia bowed her head in acquiescence; and,
supporting Lauretta, with an unfaltering step she left for the last time
the castle of her ancestors; she supported her friend with one hand, and
with the other folded her veil close to her face, that no rudely curious
eye might read in its expression the sorrow that she felt in her heart.
"My grief is my own," she thought; "the only treasure that remains to
me; and I will hoard it with more jealousy from the sight and knowledge
of others, than a miser does his gold."
She walked unhesitating through the hall, long the seat of her purest
happiness. Her infant feet had trodden its pavement in unreproved
gaiety; and she thought for a moment that she saw the venerable form of
her father seated in his accustomed place. But she proudly shook the
softening emotion from her, and looked with a tearless eye upon the
hearth, round which the soldiers of her enemy stood, profaning its
sacredness by their presence. The inner court of the castle was filled
by a number of women and children, the wives of the peasantry who
depended on her, who, as they saw her advance, raised one cry of grief;
she started, and said in a smothered voice, "Could I not have been
spared this?"
"Impossible," replied Castiglione, who overheard her; "nothing but the
most brutal force could have prevented them."
"Enough," said Euthanasia; "I am satisfied."
The women clung about her, kissing her hands, her garments, and throwing
themselves on their knees with all the violent gesticulation of
Italians. They tore their hair, and called on heaven to save and bless
their mistress, and to avenge her wrongs;--"God bless you, good people!"
cried their countess; "may you never be reminded of my loss by any
misfortune that may befal yourselves!"
And, disengaging herself from their grasp, she walked on, while they
followed crying and bewailing. She crossed the drawbridge, which was
guarded at each end by soldiers; ere she put her foot on the opposite
rock, Euthanasia paused for one moment; it seemed to her that all was
irretrievably lost, when once she had passed the barrier which this
bridge placed between her past and future life; she glanced back once
more at the castle, and looked up to the window of her apartment; she
had expected to find it desert and blank; but it was filled with
soldiers, who stood looking from it on her departure; she sighed deeply,
and then with quicker steps hastened down the mountain.
The idea that this path had been the scene of the morning's combat
affrighted her; and she dared not look round, fearing that she might see
some lifeless victim among the bushes and rocks on the road-side: and so
it might easily have been; for, when Castiglione had ordered the road to
be cleared of the dead, many had been cast behind the projections of
rock, or under the low wood, in their haste; and, as they passed, the
vulture arose from among the grass, scared from his prey, and told too
truly that he feasted upon limbs which that same morning had been
endowed with life. The very path on which she trod was slippery with
blood; and she felt as if she walked through one of the circles of
hell's torments[10], until she reached the foot of the rock.
Lauretta was placed in a litter; Euthanasia mounted her horse; and they
prepared to depart: but the women again raising a cry, threw themselves
about the horse, seizing the reins, and vowing that she should not leave
them. "God bless you!" cried the poor countess, who, although filled
with her own grief, yet sympathized with these good people; "but now go;
you may harm yourselves with your new master; you can do no good to me."
The soldiers interfered; and, opening the path before Euthanasia, she
gave the reins to her horse, and rode with speed out of the hearing of
the cry, which her people again sent up, when they saw that she had
indeed left them. She had outridden the rest of her party; and, finding
herself alone, she drew up her palfrey to wait their arrival. She looked
upon the castle, no longer hers; a few quick drops fell; she dried them
again; and, seeing her escort approach, she turned her horse's head,
and, without a word, proceeded slowly on her way to Lucca.
The city-gates were shut; but, on the word being given by her escort,
they were thrown open, and she entered the dark and narrow streets of
the town. "My prison!" thought Euthanasia. Here the company divided:
Lauretta, at her own request, was conveyed to the house of the mother of
Leodino; and Euthanasia was led to the palace prepared for her
reception. She took no notice of the streets through which she passed,
and cared little whether they conducted her to a palace or a prison;
indeed during the latter part of her ride, her strength both of mind and
body so much forsook her, that she could hardly keep her seat on her
horse, but rode like a veiled statue of despair.
Euthanasia was led to her chamber; her attendants came to her, but she
dismissed them all; and, her mind confused, her spirits and strength
quite exhausted by long watching during several of the preceding nights,
and by the exciting circumstances of the day, she threw herself dressed
as she was on a couch, and, kindly nature coming to her aid, sank
instantaneously into a heavy and dreamless sleep.
Day was far advanced, before she again awoke, and looked forth on the
light, with a sentiment, as if the slight refreshment of spirit and
strength she had received, were but a mockery of the sad weight that
oppressed her heart. She lifted her heavy head, like a water lily whose
cup is filled by a thunder shower: but, presently recalling her
scattered faculties, she sat for some time in deep meditation,
endeavouring to philosophize herself out of the unhappiness that she
felt. The palace to which she had been conducted, was a large and
magnificent one, near the outskirts of the town: it had belonged to one
of the victims of Castruccio's despotism, and had the desolate and
woe-begone appearance of a mansion which has lost its master. From the
chamber where she sat, she looked upon the garden; a square plot of
ground surrounded by four high walls, which had been planted in the
Italian taste, but which now ran wild; the small flower-beds were
overgrown with weeds, and the grass, a rude commoner, had thrust itself
into the untrod paths; the stone-pedestals for the lemon-pots were green
with moss and lichens; and here and there the wind-borne seed of some
delicate plant had sown a lovely flower in the midst of the moist,
coarse herbage which could ill claim its fellowship. A few cypress and
box trees, which had been cut into shape, now mocked the gardener's
knife with the unpruned growth of three years; and ivy darkened the
walls side by side with the orange trees, whose golden apples shone
amidst the dark foliage. A few lizards had crept from beneath the stones
to bask in the rays of the autumnal sun; and the frogs croaked in a
reservoir or cistern, which had once played as a fountain, but which was
now choked with weeds and dirt. Such was the desolate scene which
arrested the eyes of Euthanasia, as she looked from her window. "The
image of my fortunes;" she thought, and turned away, while a tear flowed
down her cheek.
Her servant now entered; and, while she arranged her dress, the woman
related the catastrophe of the siege. When the soldiers of Castruccio
had appeared behind her defenders coming down from the castle, they
threw themselves first on those who guarded the bridge, and took
Bondelmonti and the principal Florentines prisoners: but the dependents
of the countess, transported with fury, and elevated by the promises
which Bindo had held out of success, rushed out of their hiding-places,
and charging those at the foot of the rock, drove them with desperate
courage down the mountain path, unmindful of the enemies who pressed
upon their rear. The battle was bloody; many fell on each side; the
small troop of Valpergans were destroyed almost to a man, falling
voluntary sacrifices for their mistress's preservation. A few were taken
prisoners, and among them Bindo, who almost miraculously had escaped
unwounded. But, if he were not wounded in body, his mind was almost
frenzied with rage and disappointment, when he saw the Lucchese flag
wave from the donjon of the castle; he tried to break from those who
held him, and, weak as he appeared to be, he exerted such desperate
strength, using both hands, feet, and teeth, that the soldiers found it
necessary to bind him.--As they fastened the cords, Castiglione came up:
he remembered the Albinois; and, asking why it was that he was used so
roughly, he ordered them to set him free. As soon as his bonds were
loosened, without speaking or looking round, he darted off; and, running
across the country as swiftly as a deer from the hounds, was quickly out
of sight.
Euthanasia wept when she heard of the blood that had been spilt for her;
and self-reproach, who is ever ready to thrust in his sharp sting, if he
find that mailed conscience has one weak part, now tormented her that
she had not yielded, before one human life had been lost in so unhappy a
cause. "Do not evil that good may come," thought she. "Are not those the
words of the Teacher? I have done infinite evil, in spilling that blood
whose each precious drop was of more worth than the jewels of a kingly
crown; but my evil has borne its fitting fruit; its root in death, its
produce poison."
In the course of the day, Arrigo Guinigi came to visit her. He came with
a message from Castruccio, who intreated her to remain quietly in the
palace provided for her, until he should return to Lucca, which would be
in a few days, when he would learn from her own lips what her wishes
were with regard to her future life. Arrigo said all this with downcast
eyes and a heaving breast, hardly daring to speak, and much less raise
his eyes upon the countess; who replied that she would obey; that she
had much rather not see the prince; but that if he commanded it, she was
ready to submit. "You see me, my dear Arrigo, a prisoner, despoiled of
my possessions, a slave to your lord's will. Yet I hope and trust, that
these events would not have created the deep sorrow with which I feel
that my soul is filled, did not bitter sentiments of lost affections,
disappointed expectations, and utter hopelessness, fill up the measure
of my infelicity. My good youth, we are born to misery; so our priests
tell us, and there is more sooth in that lesson, than in early youth we
are willing to believe; yet fortitude is the virtue with which my father
endeavoured principally to imbue me, and I would fain not disgrace his
counsels; but indeed a poisoned barb has entered my heart, and I cannot
draw it out."
Arrigo endeavoured to comfort her.--"Your state is far from hopeless;
the prince has promised, and intends to keep his promise, that your
revenues shall not be injured by the loss of your castle. At Florence
you will be surrounded by friends, and every luxury and pleasure of
life; and there you may again be happy."
Autumn was now far advanced, and the rains came on. The Florentine and
Lucchese armies, which had remained looking at each other from opposite
sides of the river, were now further divided by the overflowing of its
waters; so each retreated to their several towns, and the campaign of
that year ended. Castruccio returned to Lucca. His first concern was a
long and private conversation with Castiglione; and immediately after he
dispatched Arrigo to prepare Euthanasia for a conference.
Poor girl! her heart beat, and the blood mounted to her before pale
cheeks, when she heard that she was to see him whom she had loved, and
to whose memory, as of what had been, she clung with tenacious
affection. It was a cruel task for her to behold his form, graceful as
it had been when she gazed on it in happier days, and his countenance,
which, but that more pride were mingled in the expression, was as
gloriously beautiful, as when it beamed love upon her; and more than
all, to hear his voice, whose soft and mellow cadences had wrapt her
soul in Elysium, now to be heard as the voice of an alien. But
indignation mingled itself with these feelings, and enabled her to
support the coming trial with greater courage; so, calling up all of
pride with which her delicacy might arm her, and all of fortitude which
her philosophy had taught, she awaited with patience the expected
moment.
She sat on a low sopha; her dress was dark; the vest, formed of purple
silk, and fastened at her waist by a silken cord, fell in large folds to
her feet; a cloak of sables hung on her shoulder; and her golden hair,
partly clustered on her neck, and partly confined by a ribbon, covered
with its ringlets her fair brow. When she heard the step of Castruccio
approaching, she became pale; her very lips lost their colour; and her
serious eyes, shorn of their beams, were as the deep azure of midnight,
where the stars shine not. He entered. When he had seen her last, he had
been haughty and imperious; but now his manner was all softness,
gentleness and humility; so that, when he spoke, in spite of the high
nobility of her spirit, her eyes were weighed down by the unshed tears.
"Countess," he said, "pardon me, if my intrusion upon you appear
ungenerous; but persons, that, like myself, are occupied in the affairs
of government, are apt to leave too much to underlings, who never do or
say that which it were exactly right to have said or done. Your future
peace is too dear to me, to permit me to hear from any but yourself what
are your wishes and your expectations."
He paused, waiting for an answer, and fixed on her his soft and full
eyes, which seemed to read her soul, while a gentle smile of compassion
and love played on his lips. After collecting her thoughts, she raised
her eyes to reply, and met those of her former lover, whose expression
seemed fraught with all that affection he had once vowed to her. She was
unable to speak; but then, angry at her own weakness, she rallied her
spirits, and replied,--"I have but one favour to intreat, which is your
permission to remove instantly to Florence."
"Your wishes in this respect, Madonna, are commands; yet I could have
desired that you would consent to stay awhile in Lucca. I know the
judgement that you have formed of me; you look on me as a wild beast
ravenous for blood, as a lawless monster, despoiled of all the feelings
of humanity. I could have desired that you would stay awhile, to find
and to avow your injustice; I could wish you to stay, until the deep
respect, and if you will permit the word, the love I feel for you,
should make such impression on your heart, that you would allow me to
assuage those sorrows of which I have unhappily been the cause."
"My lord, do not speak thus to me," replied Euthanasia, with a voice
which at first trembled, but which gained firmness as she continued; "We
are divided; there is an eternal barrier between us now, sealed by the
blood of those miserable people who fell for me. I cannot, I do not love
you; and, if a most frivolous and reprehensible weakness could make me
listen now, the ghosts of the slain would arise to divide us. My lord, I
cannot reason with you, I can hardly speak; the blood of the
slaughtered, the tears of the survivors, the scathed ruins of my castle,
are all answers, louder than words, to your present offers. If these
have been your acts of courtship, pardon me if I say, that I had rather
woo the lion in his den to be my husband, than become the bride of a
conqueror. But this is useless cavilling, painful to both of us; it
awakens in me the indignation I would fain repress; and it may kindle
resentment in your heart, which is already too apt to be inflamed with
that sentiment. You came, you say, to learn my wishes; you have now
heard them; let us part; we part in that peace every Christian believer
owes to his brother; I forgive you from my inmost heart; do not you hate
me; and thus farewel."
"You forgive me, Euthanasia? Is then your soul so pure? me, who indeed
have grievously wronged you; and, however necessary my actions have
been, yet have they been destructive to you. But, if indeed you forgive
me, and part in Christian amity, allow me once more to take your hand,
that I may know that it is not a mere form of words, but that you
express a feeling of the heart."
Euthanasia held out her hand, which he took in both his, and holding it
thus, he said: "Hear me, my loved girl; you whom alone in the world I
have ever loved. You despise, repulse, and almost hate me; and yet, God
knows, I still cherish you as tenderly, as when we told each other's
love-tale first in yonder unhappy castle. I do not ask you to love me,
you cannot;--but you are still young, very young, Euthanasia; and
fortune yet may have many changes in store for you. Remember, that,
through them all, I am your friend; and if ever in any misery you want a
protector, one to save and preserve you, Castruccio, the neglected,
mistaken, but most faithful Castruccio, will ever be ready to use his
arm and his power in your service. Now, Euthanasia, farewel."
"Oh God!" cried the unhappy girl, moved to her inmost heart, "could you
not have spared me this? leave me; farewel for ever!"
He kissed her hand, and left her; while she, her delicate frame yielding
under the many emotions she experienced, sank almost lifeless on the
couch. She had suffered much, and borne up through all. But this last
interview overcame her: her health, which had been weakened by watching,
and agitation, and tears, now entirely gave way. A fever
followed,--delirium, and utter deprivation of strength. The disease
seemed to feed on her very vitals; and death already tainted her cheek
with his fingers. But youth, and a constitution, nourished and
strengthened among mountains, and healthful exertions of body and mind,
saved her; and, after a confinement of several months, she again crept
forth, to see the sun of spring smile on his children, who laughingly
welcomed his genial beams.
Where during this time was the prophetess of Ferrara?
[Footnote 10: See Dante.]
END OF VOLUME II.